Whatever Love Means
by Kazzabelle
Summary: POST HALLOWS! Ron and Hermione struggle to reconcile their bitter breakup in the leadup to a Weasley wedding. How much do they mean to each other? Can it be resolved? Hermione races to restore her parents' memories as they build a new life in Australia.
1. Ch 1: The Talking Glass of Butterbeer

**_SPOILERS: If you have not finished reading Deathly Hallows, or any of the other Harry Potter books, then continue reading at your own risk!_**

****

**Foreword**

This fan fiction has been written to fill in the gap between the final two chapters of Book 7 (_Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)_. Please be aware that if you haven't yet read this book, then it's _not _advisable to read this fan fiction, as it will contain many spoilers. I'm sure this general concept (filling in the gap) already has and will be done to death on this website, but hopefully you will enjoy this new story regardless. I have decided against altering any significant details that have already happened in the seven books – so if you're expecting to see Dumbledore come back to life, or Draco and Hermione getting together, then I suspect you'll be pretty disappointed.

Except for the idea of this fan fiction plotline, and the few new characters I've invented, (and obviously the writing of it), everything here belongs to J.K Rowling alone. I don't intend in any way to take credit for that. Thank you, J.K Rowling, for being so brilliant.

**Note: **Thanks to the highly observant, albeit anonymous, reviewer who pointed out the little inconsistency with Victoire's age versus the broomstick gift. It's now been fixed. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter 1****: The Talking Glass of Butterbeer**

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu could be felt in The Burrow on this particular day in November. The air was soft and balmy, quite unlike the nippy pre-winter weather everybody had been anticipating. Inside the house, it was tense and frantic; Molly Weasley was thoroughly agitated in her attempts to organise the entire Weasley family in time for George's upcoming wedding.

"Charlie, if I've told you once I've told you forty seven times-"

Charlie knew what was coming, and sniggered. "Forty seven times is a bit excessive, isn't it?"

Mrs Weasley apparently chose to ignore his remark, barrelling on. "Cut that ridiculous-looking mop from your head, or else I'll charm it off, and believe me, we don't need the embarrassment. And Bill –"

"Yes, mother?" Bill sighed wearily.

"Restrain that child of yours, please. I don't fancy a grandchild with missing toes or broken legs." She glared down at little two-year-old Victoire, who was zooming around the living room on a toy broomstick that Harry had given her for her first birthday (in tribute to the gift Sirius had given him as a child), happily dodging the minor, playful charms Bill was lazily shooting from his wand as he lay, strewn across the couch. "In fact, you can cut out your silly games altogether and go and find your brother. Heaven knows we don't need to lose our groom the day before the wedding!" With that, she slammed the door of her kitchen shut, and they could hear pots and pans whizzing out of their cupboards at furious speed. They could hear various grumbled mutterings which nobody could quite hear, but which they could all, with a little imagination, imagine.

"Okay, Vicky," said Bill, clapping his hands together. "No more broom riding for you today. Well," he said, his voice lowering, "not in front of  
Nanna, anyway." He scooped up his daughter, whose legs were flailing about as though she were still on her broomstick, and plonked her in Fleur's lap.

"I weesh you would not call her Vicky," said Fleur irritably. "Her name eez _Victoire._" At the mere mention of her own name, Victoire turned around and patted her mother's swollen belly affectionately.

"Baby," Victoire gurgled happily in her hybrid British-French accent.

Fleur nodded wearily. "Yes, eet eez a baby in there. Now, let _maman _rest for a leetle while. Baby makes her very tired."

Charlie squeezed into the small gap between Bill and Fleur on the couch. His niece clambered from her mother's lap into his, springing up awkwardly onto her feet, teetering madly while gleefully squishing his cheeks and nose around his face like plasticine. Charlie sounded as though he'd just had his teeth pulled out when he spoke. "You know why she's acting like this, don't you?"

Fleur shook her head and Bill snickered.

"Eet's the baby," she snapped haughtily. "Eet's cutting off air to my brain. I cannot understand everything around here!"

"Anyway," said Charlie, ignoring the momentary spat, "something's gone wrong with Hermione and that crazy brother of mine. She's working herself into a great fat knot about it."

Bill sighed. "Oh, joy. Just what we need."

"What don't we need?" Mrs Weasley had suddenly reappeared in the living room, evidently having taken all her remaining frustrations out on the saucepans. Her face was now a rather normal pale pink colour, although nobody expected it to stay that way for long.

"Nothing," Charlie and Bill said, in unison, and much too quickly. Mrs Weasley was immediately suspicious.

"If you two are going to sit here and talk about me, or your brother, or his love life, behind my back, then that's fine, but I'm sure I could find something to keep you busy. Of course, if-"

"Yes, Mum," said both Charlie and Bill, defeated; they both stood and skulked into the backyard to finish weeding the flowerbeds, which had of late taken to strangling the garden gnomes.

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Harry and Ron were sitting in the Hog's Head, having downed their third Butterbeer. The pub was crowded with Hogwarts students, enjoying their excursion to the wizarding village of Hogsmeade. The pub door jangled open and next minute a gust of cool air blasted their skin. Harry shivered involuntarily. The next moment, he saw a figure slip onto the stool beside him, then realised it was Neville Longbottom, who had managed to disentangle himself from the cluster of avid Herbology students who had followed him inside.

"Hi, Neville," said Harry.

"Hi yourself! So," said Neville kindly, "how are things?"

Harry nodded. "Fine, fine."

Ron raised his Butterbeer glass to no-one in particular. "Yep. Bloody fantastic." He slurped the dregs and then let out a squeaky hiccough.

"Looks like you need another one, mate," said Seamus Finnigan, who had just recently joined Aberforth Dumbledore as bartender in the small yet very popular pub. "Here you go. It'll make everything better. Kill the pain a bit. Or you, possibly."

Neville looked rather confused. "What pain?"

Harry looked at him over the top of Ron's head, which was still bent miserably over the bar. He mouthed the word, "Hermione."

Neville still remained confused. "What?" Then it dawned on him. "Oh, _Hermione_," he said.

"Nice one, Nev," sniggered Seamus. He tapped Ron's empty  
Butterbeer glass with his wand, making the remnants of froth vanish.

Ron moaned, his nose nearly inside his new Butterbeer. "Hermione," he muttered angrily. "Yeah, _Hermione_."

"Well, what's the matter?" asked Neville. "Where is she?" He looked around, almost as if he expected that she would Apparate in front of them, wander out of the ladies' room or, at a long shot, materialise from underneath Ron's barstool.

"She's in Australia," said Harry immediately, for he knew that Ron would most likely snap unkindly at Neville if he were given the chance to respond, "visiting her parents. Trying to convince them of who she is and to make them come home. Trouble is, there were issues with the spell she used to erase their memories back before we did away with Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who, and she's finding it really hard to reverse it." He paused. "She's having to show them photo albums and stuff to talk them into the idea that they have a daughter. Apparently they're really happy where they are, so it's a big job that she's doing." He wondered with a stab of hopefulness whether solely platonic references to Hermione might make it easier for Ron to survive the conversation.

"Where in Australia is she?" asked Neville politely, almost nervously, trying to make small talk, catching on to Harry's objective.

A faint mumble reverberated from the inside of the Butterbeer glass, which now contained half of Ron's face. "Who bloody cares?"

Harry grimaced. "Somewhere I can't remember the name of."

"Perth," the Butterbeer glass echoed again.

"And – uh – when is she due back?"

"Dunno," said the Butterbeer glass again. "She didn't say." The Butterbeer glass shuddered violently on the bar as Ron heaved deeply. "Doesn't know if she'll be coming back at all."

Neville gulped. He seemed wordless. "Well – I – uh…I'd better get going. You know, I think it's time to head back to Hogwarts, anyway."

He scraped his chair backwards from the bar and walked over to the table where his students had seated themselves. A moment later they stood, making their way out of the front door, giggling and chattering excitedly.

"Glad they're having a good time," Ron scowled, his face now lifted from the glass in front of him.

"You've had far too much of that stuff for one night," said Harry, snatching the glass away. "It's gone to your head. You're turning into a misery guts." He turned to Seamus. "How much do we owe you?"

"Nah, it's on me this time," he said. "But if I ever need my life saved, I'll be knocking on your door."

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"Oh, there you are Ronald!" Mrs Weasley proclaimed as soon as he stepped through the front door of The Burrow. "You're late! I need you to tidy your bedroom before everybody starts arriving."

Ron groaned and barged through the living room and upstairs. "Leamme alone," he muttered.

"Ron, don't talk to me like –"

They heard his bedroom slam shut, and Mrs Weasley knew not to press the subject.

"He's had too much to drink," Harry offered gently. "And Neville asked him about Hermione."

"Oh, _no…_" Her voice trailed off. There was nothing more to say.

Harry was about to say something, something hopefully clever or reassuring, but thought better of it. In that instant, Arthur Weasley appeared by their side, red-faced and cheery. "Look who the cat dragged in!"

That was when they noticed the figure standing beside Arthur. The figure sported an unmistakeable mass of dark blonde frizzy hair, red flushed cheeks, and the look of somebody who had just been caught raiding the biscuit barrel. Mrs Weasley gasped and Harry jumped.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione Granger, a little nervously, as though expecting that Molly would hit her over the head with a spare saucepan. "Hello, Harry."

Mrs Weasley took one look at Hermione and burst into tears, throwing herself around her shoulders. Hermione patted her awkwardly on the back.

"Oh, Hermione," said Mrs Weasley, her sobs now soaking Hermione's jumper, "whatever has gone wrong between you and Ron – just fix it, all right?"


	2. Ch 2: Secrets

**Chapter 2: Secrets**

"Harry, you can't tell him I'm here yet. You _can't._" Hermione angrily dragged her suitcase upstairs, so riled that she had forgotten she could easily use her wand to do it.

"Well, why did you come here then? To hide in Ginny's room and hope that Ron wouldn't notice?"

Hermione glared at Harry. "In case you hadn't forgotten, Harry," she whispered angrily, "there is a wedding here tomorrow, and I was invited. I decided to come back for George, and for you and Ginny, only. Not to sulk in my room about Ron, not to cry on your shoulder. _Just for the wedding_."

"I still think we should wake him up. He'll be furious when he gets up to find you here tomorrow morning."

"Well, I don't –"

Unfortunately, their conversation hadn't been quiet enough. Ron staggered out of his bedroom, nursing a pounding, Butterbeer-filled head. "Harry, what're you…" His voice trailed off, and for a moment his mouth dropped open in a perfect O. He was speechless as he stared at Hermione. She averted her gaze and stared behind him at the wall.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he said, when the words had finally formed. "I mean…_why_? I thought you were staying back in America…or I dunno…wherever."

"_Australia, _Ronald. And as I pointed out to Harry, I came back because I was invited to your brother's wedding."

Ron's face fell. "Oh. I see, then." He whirled around into his bedroom, and slammed the door so hard this time that the plaque bearing his name swung off and shattered into pieces.

After unpacking her suitcase, Hermione crawled, fully-clothed, under the duvet on the spare bed set up in Ginny's room for guests. She reached over the edge of the bed and pulled a bag from the floor.

"Here you go, Harry," said Hermione, handing him a small box. Inside was a wand in the shape of a Didgeridoo. He gave it a flick and the next minute the sound of Australian Aboriginal music filled the air. There was also a t-shirt that said "Wizard of Oz", bearing a picture of a wizard wearing a bobbled cork hat, cloak and grasping his wand against a backdrop of the Australian landscape. "I found a tiny wizarding village up north in Australia. Timberacha, it was called. They're all so different up there! But very exciting. Great photos!" She passed Ginny a parcel, into which Ginny peeked and hurriedly stuffed it under her pillow, before Harry could see it.

"Thanks, Hermione," they both said, at the same time.

"Has Ron been like this the whole time?" asked Hermione. Both Harry and Ginny were taken aback that Hermione had started talking about it so quickly.

Ginny nodded. "More or less. He's had his good moments, but…" Her voice trailed off. "Mostly near suicidal."

"_Ginny!" _said Harry, but it was too late; a tear had dripped down Hermione's cheek and splashed onto her lap. Her gaze remained cast downwards.

"What did happen, Hermione?" asked Ginny, but Hermione shook her head ever so slightly. "You can tell me. I'm your best friend, aren't I?"

"_Ginny," _scolded Harry, a second time, "she doesn't want to talk about it!"

"Okay, okay," Ginny said. "I only wanted to help." She turned back to Hermione, glaring at Harry. "We'll leave you alone for awhile, all right? There was something Mum wanted us to do downstairs, anyway." And with that, she grabbed Harry's hand and all but yanked him out of the room, leaving Hermione staring up at the ceiling, tears splashing further and further down her cheeks.

She stood up, circled the room about fifteen times, then lay back down again. Nothing she did could really make her forget that Ron, who was once _her _Ron, was sleeping, probably soundly, in the room opposite. It was painful, rather like having somebody press a slab of ice onto her chest.

"Stop it, Hermione," she growled at herself. "You've dealt with worse than these. Bellatrix Lestrange nearly killed you. _Voldemort _nearly killed you. You can cope with something as ridiculously pathetic as this." But she was not convinced. She sank back into her pillow and wept silently, determined that _nobody _would hear her cry, _nobody _would know.

As she closed her eyes, memories flooded into her mind, memories of the happier days with Ron. What she didn't know was that, at that moment, Ron too was lying awake in bed, reliving the same memories in unison with her own.


	3. Ch 3: A Kiss on the Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 3: Memories – A Kiss on the Hogwarts Express**

In the weeks following the death of Voldemort, everything between Ron and Hermione changed. Ever since the moment when Hermione kissed Ron as Hogwarts prepared to fight Voldemort and his followers, they were inseparable; although their relationship was enormously fiery, and every moment was prone to a spontaneous argument which left the two close to hating – or killing - one another.

"Ronald _Weasley!_" shouted Hermione furiously one afternoon. The three were on the Hogwarts Express, bound for The Burrow. It felt sad to be leaving Hogwarts again; but classes had been cancelled for the rest of the year while the professors busied themselves with restoring the building, and the curriculum, back to its pre-war state.

Ron rolled his eyes in Harry's direction. "Girls. Why do we bother?"

"Don't you be like that. I'm not speaking to you now."

"What'd I do?"

"You _know. _You told Neville about – about-" Her voice trailed off as she realised that Harry's interest in their conversation had been raised.

"About what?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Hermione, her cheeks flushing. "And no," she added, glaring at the amused expression on Harry's face, "it's not _that_!"

The next minute, Ron had launched himself onto the seat next to Hermione, wrapped his arm around her neck, dipped her and kissed her hard. He surfaced a few minutes later, now just as red-cheeked as Hermione, with a silly grin on his face.

"There," he said to Harry, settling back into the seat opposite his girlfriend, "that'll shut her up for awhile."

Hermione stood and whacked Ron across the head with her book.


	4. Ch 4: The Chaos Theory

**Chapter 4 : ****The Chaos Theory**

As if to match the tensions running in the Weasley household on the morning of George's wedding, the weather was utterly miserable, with a dense mist hanging in the air and the trees dripping from a night of intense rain.

"Oh, no," Harry muttered to Ginny as he awoke, rubbing his eyes before pulling on his glasses to see the gloominess through the window. "Molly is _not _going to be happy."

As if on cue, they heard a cacophony of clattering saucepans from downstairs, as though they had been hurled against a door.

"I'd better go and see who got killed," Ginny said. She hurled the covers from her body and sprinted downstairs. "I'll be back." When she reached the table, she sat next to Hermione, who was calmly devouring a stack of pancakes she'd somehow managed to cook in the morning's madness. "What's going on?"

"I don't think I have enough fingers," said Hermione, spearing another chunk of pancake onto her fork. "George is getting the flu, the tables and chairs are refusing to be charmed, the frost has killed your mother's flowers, she ruined four cauldrons of food because Victoire ran through the kitchen zapping things with Bill's wand, Victoire's now screaming and won't shut up, Fleur's on the verge of a nervous breakdown, your Dad blew up the back shed trying to tinker with the present he bought for George, and Astaria has vanished."

"What do you mean, vanished?" said Ginny, astounded. "She was at home last night. Mum rang Tobias to see how she was."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, she's gone now. George is acting like it doesn't matter but I think he's working himself into a flu over the stress of it. And speaking of stress, your mum's magic is malfunctioning because of it all."

Ginny leaned back in her chair and hit her head on the rail. "Not to mention the you and Ron thing." She sighed. "I feel like the only normal one in this family."

At that moment, Mrs Weasley burst through the kitchen door with another cauldron of food. "Oh, Ginny dear," she said. "I need you to…er…" She couldn't complete the sentence, realising that there was absolutely nothing her daughter could do about the chaos. "Get Harry and Ron out of bed. I want them ready to move as soon as the world decides to get back to normal."

"To add insult to further injury," Ginny muttered so that only Hermione could hear, "my brother will be hung over this morning."

--------------------------------

As Ginny had predicted, when Harry went into Ron's bedroom to prise him out into the world, there was a lot of drunken resistance.

"Gerroff me," growled the voice from underneath the covers. "I'm sleeping."

"Your brother's getting married today," said Harry, "and more importantly, your mother is on the warpath, so I really _really _think you should get up. Right now." Harry gave the human-sized lump on the bed a sharp prod with his toe, and the next minute a furious Ron Weasley flew out with the quilt still coiled around his body.

"If Hermione's really here, and I wasn't just having a really insane, horrible nightmare," said Ron angrily, "then I am getting back into bed, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me."

A few minutes later, with Ron considerably more dressed than he had been, they went downstairs to joint the commotion.

"Harry, love," said Mrs Weasley, "can you – er – try and throw in a bit of your magic? Ours seems to have failed us today."

"Oh, sure," said Ron, rolling his eyes and trying as hard as possible to ignore Hermione. "Use Harry's magic. Ickle Ron's is surely no good."

Mrs Weasley turned to her youngest son and prodded him with her spatula. "If ickle Ron were sober and capable of putting a pancake into his mouth in a straight line," she said, "then I might trust him with fixing our magic. Otherwise, he can be quiet and keep his wand to himself."

She turned back to Harry. "Sorry, dear," she said. "Mother's discipline calls. Anyway, could you oblige?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll try." He pulled out his wand. "What do I need to fix?"

"Er," said Mrs Weasley. "Try fixing my cooking first. The soup's terrible, the stews are overcooked and my pies are completely ruined. I've lost my touch this morning."

"Okay." Blue sparks flew out of Harry's wand. Noises, much more pleasant than those Mrs Weasley had created earlier, erupted from the kitchen. Mrs Weasley dashed into the kitchen to find her sixteen cauldrons filled with now steaming, perfectly cooked stews and soups.The table was piled high with repaired crisp apple and rhubarb pies. Mrs Weasley gave a scream of delight and it appeared that the remaining magical mishaps had almost been forgotten.

"Bill and Charlie," said Hermione. "They can't sort out the tables and chairs outside."

"Why ever not?" said Harry. "They're better at magic than me. I doubt I could –"

"Oh, stop being modest and just _try_, for goodness sake!" said Ginny, grabbing his wand. "Because if you don't, I will!"

"Fine, fine," said Harry, snatching the wand back. As he flicked a charm into the air, there came a yelp of pain from the back garden as two of the tables crashed into one another, before collapsing onto Charlie's outstretched leg.

"Oh, no," said Harry. "I think I just broke the best man's leg."


	5. Ch 5: Whatever Love Means

**Chapter 5****:Whatever Love Means**

As much as nobody could believe it was capable of happening, everything became calmer as the hours leading to the ceremony turned into minutes.

"Thank God," muttered Ron, as he clumsily tried to do up his tie, much to Harry's amusement. "I was about to kill my mother. In fact, I was about to kill my entire family, which would've been a lovely way to start a wedding."

Everything had also managed to resolve itself quite suitably. Charlie's briefly broken leg was mended with a quick spell from Arthur, whose magic (unlike his Muggle-style mechanical tinkerings) had apparently been unaffected. Even Astaria had been found. The bride had apparently acquired some last minute nerves and embarked on a midnight trip to clear her head.

"Where'd she go?" Ron asked Harry, who had had the conversation with Mrs Weasley. "To Hogsmeade or something?"

"Apparently she Apparated to Australia. Something about nice open dry spaces to give her a sense of perspective. "

"Australia? Why the bloody hell is everyone going to Australia these days anyway?" Ron cried. "Don't like it!"

Harry had to laugh. "Anyone would think you were bitter about your ex-girlfriend or something."

"Yeah, well, I am," said Ron. "Can you fix this stupid tie for me?"

Harry nodded. "I did manage to learn something useful from the Dursleys, I suppose." He quickly put Ron's tie together. "There, you see? Ickle Ron is so handsome."

There was a wave of something like pain that crashed over Ron's face at that moment. Harry noticed it.

"What is it?" he asked.

Ron sighed. "Nothing. It's just that…well…"

"Hermione?"

"Yeah. I took her to…I took her to Neville's wedding in this outfit and she told me that I…that I looked amazing. That she was…" His voice became almost inaudible, "really lucky to be with me. Then she kissed me, and I…um…thought we'd be together for a long time."

Harry put his arm around his best friend's shoulders. "I'm sure she still loves you," he said. "I mean, you still love her, don't you?"

"Well, whatever love means these days," said Ron bitterly.


	6. Ch 6: What a Beautiful Wedding

**Chapter 5****:What a Beautiful Wedding**

The makeshift pews were filled with guests as the string quartet _Enchanted Oasis _gently played some classical wizarding pieces. There was a low murmur of chatter as everybody anticipated the bride's arrival.

"It's not too late to back out now, mate," said Charlie to George, who was standing uncharacteristically nervously by the altar. He was so nervous, in fact, that there was no razor-sharp joke hurled in his brother's direction; he just kept staring straight ahead, as though looking hard enough toward the end of the pews would make Astaria appear.

Only a few moments later, the music changed and everybody knew it was time. Silence fell over the crowd of guests as the bridesmaids glided toward the altar; Ginny, ethereal as usual in a pale purple gown, made Harry's throat catch and his stomach flutter. Katie Bell, in pink, was next. Last came Hermione, in a soft blue dress that seemed to shimmer in the cool air; Ron started to sway at the sight of her, and it was all Harry could do to hold him steady.

The vows were over in mere minutes; there was wild whooping as George leaned in to kiss his new wife, who was beaming uncontrollably; and a blur of wands as sparks and confetti and roses and even a few fireworks burst from the crowd in celebration.

---------------------------------------------

The reception was abuzz as guests mingled and tried desperately to steal a moment with the newlyweds. Despite the merriment, Harry and Ginny were trapped in a corner, trying to console a distressed Ron, who couldn't take his eyes away from Hermione's conversation with a strange and blatantly handsome wizard across the room.

"That – should've – been me," gulped Ron, throwing down another mouthful of champagne.

"Should've been you _what_?" cried Ginny in exasperation. He'd been saying the same words, over and over again, for the last hour. "If you don't tell me what you mean, I swear on Fred's grave that I'll curse your tongue out…."

"Ginny, don't say that," said Harry. "Just let him deal with it in his own time. It's not like you to say something like that…." He shook his friend sharply. "Look, Ron, we're trying to help! If you don't want to tell us what you mean, then just shut up, okay!"

Ron waved his champagne glass around and almost hurled into the face of a passing guest, who flashed him a dirty look. "Sorry," he mumbled.

It was then that the clanking of champagne glasses began. George's voice boomed out over the crowd, thanks to the_ Sonorus_ spell he'd just cast.

"I'd like to make a toast now," he said, "to my gorgeous new wife, whose sanity, for choosing me, I still have to question." There was a low rumble of laughter. "Thanks to everybody who have come here, whether you're close by or from far away. Today very nearly didn't happen thanks to a crazy morning where the Chaos Theory decided to apply itself to our house.

I met Astaria after the end of the war. She came to me to write an article about _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_. She was convinced we were creating a hazard to wizardry and was determined to let everybody else know it." He looked down at his wife, who was still beaming. "Luckily, my irresistible charm won her over and she decided to withdraw her article and instead go out with me.

She's gorgeous, she's funny, smart and most importantly, crazy about me. If my twin brother Fred were alive, he'd tell me that I'd somehow managed to put a spell over her, because no girl in her right mind would pick an idiot like me. Well, it must have been one hell of a spell, because here we are, in love and married, and I'll tell you all now I'm the luckiest wizard in the world."

There was a roar of applause that almost made the garden shake.

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Ginny had seen Hermione slip inside The Burrow halfway through George's speech, and she followed, excusing herself from Harry and Ron, who were still engaged in a never-ending exchange of "that-should've-been-me's" and "what-do-you-means?"

Hermione was sitting cross-legged in front of her bed, flipping through a photo album. There was Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, beaming into a photograph taken for the _Daily Prophet_, which had made the front cover as a tribute to the victory against Voldemort. There was Ginny, perched on Harry's lap, her forehead connected to his and her arms wrapped around his upper torso. There was Ron, with Hermione scooped into his arms. Her head was resting on his shoulder and he was grinning as he twirled her around and around in circles. And then there was a still photo, of Hermione standing with her parents against the hedgerow in their front garden, just minutes before she performed the spell that would erase all memories of their past lives in Britain, including the existence of their only daughter.

"Their memories can't be brought back, you know," said Hermione to Ginny as she flopped down beside her on the floor. "I've tried and tried and tried. I don't know why it's not working." A tear slipped down her cheek. "I've been back there every month for the last two and a half years, and nothing. Not a single memory is coming back."

Ginny put her arm around her shoulder. "Haven't you tried talking to the Ministry? Surely there's someone in Magical Reversal –"

"I've tried," said Hermione. "I wrote letters to _all _the departments at the Ministry. Your Dad spoke to everyone personally, but nobody has ever heard of this happening before. Thing is, reversing a memory erasure on Muggles hasn't ever really been tried before. Or if it has, it hasn't really been documented."

"Oh, Hermione," said Ginny, as she began to cry. "I wish I could help you. We all do. If there's anything we _can _do…"

Hermione shook her head. "I just have to keep going over there. Try to convince them that I'm their daughter."

Ginny leaned back against the bed and pointed to the photo of Hermione and Ron together. "When was that taken?"

"We were supposed to go to Paris together," said Hermione. "About six months after we graduated from Hogwarts. He surprised me and told me we were going to go. I was so excited. Everything was planned, everything was set. But then…we had a row the night before we were meant to leave. Something completely ridiculous and Ron-like. He stormed out and I stormed out, and it just didn't happen."

"So, when was that taken?"

"Oh. It was taken just after he'd told me we were going to Paris. Harry took the picture."

"Is that why you two ended?"

"No," said Hermione. "That was nothing, really. We made up a few days later, but it was too late to go and we just didn't have the same energy for the trip anymore."

"Oh," said Ginny. "So, why did you two end?"

Hermione sighed. "Hasn't your brother told you any of this?"

"No," said Ginny. "He hasn't. He's been spending the last hour telling us that this 'should've been him.' I was about ready to kill him, honestly. I need to know, Hermione. I'm not a nosy person, but you're my best friend and he's my brother."

"He's not to know I told you," said Hermione. "You can tell Harry, but nobody else."

"I promise."

Hermione clambered up on to her bed and lay down flat, staring up at the ceiling. "Well…"

And, for the first time in months, she began to talk.


	7. Ch 7: Release

**CHAPTER 7: Release**

It didn't take too long following the victory against Voldemort for Ron and Hermione to carry on where they'd left off during the battle. In fact, it only took three days, after the shrieking and jumping and dancing had eased just enough for Ron, Hermione and Harry to pull out their earplugs without threat to their hearing.

"'Scuse me, 'scuse me," said Ron, pushing through students gathered in clusters in one of the least damaged hallways at Hogwarts. He darted, faster than he had ever possibly darted before, into the Room of Requirement, slamming the door behind him in relief.

"Thank God," he mumbled, heaving against the door. "Trying to get through that mob was like…like…I dunno." His voice trailed off as he stared at Hermione, who was perched on the edge of a huge, soft couch, thumbing through a book whose title he couldn't read. She didn't appear to have heard him.

"Hello?" he said, but there was still no answer. Finally, with a great grunt of frustration, he threw himself beside her and snatched her book away.

"Ron! You've made me lose my page. You horrible, nasty –"

Ron, with relish, threw the book onto the floor. "That's what I think of your nasty book!"

"Good thing it's not a _Monster _book, then," Hermione mumbled angrily. "Might've chewed a hole through your ankle. What a shame that would've been!"

"Yeah," said Ron. He'd stopped paying attention to the argument at hand and had suddenly noticed her appearance. She'd scraped her hair back into a loose bun, and was wearing a black jumper and jeans. She was barefoot, which was uncharacteristic for Hermione. There was something about the way she looked at that moment that made him forget everything about her that frustrated him; all he could do at that moment was remember the times he'd lay awake in bed, thinking about her and wishing that he could sift out his feelings for her; the time he'd spent alone after storming out on Harry and Hermione, and how he'd realised how badly he needed her, and how badly he wanted her. He'd decided then and there that if he ever found them again, if they survived this war together, then one day he'd actually get it right, and tell her how he felt. There were still unspoken things between them; they'd shared a rather fervent kiss, but nothing had been resolved.

"Hermione –" he began, but she cut him short.

"Don't interrupt me, Ron! I'm trying to _tell _you something important!"

"Oh. I – well – I wasn't listening."

"Well, _thank you_. Really nice to know I'm worth _listening _to –"

It was right at that moment that he grabbed her face with his hands and rather firmly pulled her to him. Their lips met and suddenly the world was on fire; everything dissolved away into oblivion. Ron thought he could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance, but then he realised that it was his own heart pounding like a metronome deep inside his chest.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, they detached themselves from one another; Hermione's hair had come loose and her cheeks had reddened. Her previous frown had morphed into a soft smile, the kind of smile that made Ron's skin tingle.

"Well…um…that was nice," Ron mumbled.

Hermione giggled.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked, almost defensively.

"No…nothing. It's just that…well…you're bright red. I never thought you'd go bright red over _me._"

At those words, Ron felt his face fill with embarrassed heat.

"It's okay," she said quickly, seeing his discomfort. "You don't have to be ashamed or anything. I think it's kind of…sweet."

What a horrible word, Ron thought to himself, reeling from the idea of it. _Sweet_. But it was true, wasn't it? Hermione had made him go soft. Suddenly, he was a walking, talking bag of mush. His mind was consumed by thoughts of _her. _He couldn't hold a conversation with somebody without seeing her face in his head. He couldn't talk to her without an insatiable impulse to just kiss her.

"Hermione…" he said, his voice trailing off. Suddenly, he felt as though his throat had been attacked by sandpaper, or some other nasty material which prevented sounds from escaping. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to speak normally again. "I…I need to tell you something."

She stared at him with her great big eyes, and he suddenly felt like he was melting. The sensation was so real, in fact, that he wondered if he'd end up a great big puddle on the floor.

"I love you," he blurted suddenly, without realising he'd actually said it. He felt horrified, but now that the words had come out, he had to keep going. "I've…um…really loved you for a long time…but – well – I only just sort of realised it. I've been a bit of a prat to you…well, a big prat really…I'm sorry I abandoned you and Harry, but…but after I left, I felt sick because I thought I might lose you, that Vol – that You-Know-Who might find you. And I was so jealous when I thought you and Harry might – might be together, that you didn't need me anymore. I love you, Hermione. I think I always will."

There. He'd said it. It felt like something had been released, not just verbally but physically. He'd finally gotten this _thing _– this horrible, painful, all-consuming _thing _– off his chest.

Hermione stared at him for a few minutes, staring into his eyes and he into hers. Wordlessly, she took his hand in hers and intertwined their fingers, her body snuggled into his, her head resting on his shoulder.

Finally, she said the words he desperately wanted to hear.

"I love you too."

--------------------------

It was several days later, and the Great Hall was filled with joyous chatter as the staff of Hogwarts hosted a celebratory feast to mark the victory against Voldemort. The room was packed with not only students and their families, but also the staff and their families. The Slytherins looked less than amused by the whole affair, primarily because of their families' split loyalties, but they still, albeit half-heartedly, joined in.

"Look at Malfoy," Ron muttered to Harry. "He doesn't know what the hell to do with himself. I'm surprised he's still here. I thought Daddy Malfoy would come and yank him out as soon as old Voldy was bumped off."

It was decidedly odd that now everybody was referring to the Dark wizard as 'old Voldy' or 'Tommy'; not even a week earlier, he was the most terrifying element in the wizarding world; now, he was just a long-forgotten bad guy.

Malfoy was sitting glumly at the Slytherin table. It appeared that an internal battle was being waged; on one hand, Harry Potter had indirectly saved his life; on the other, Harry Potter had indirectly saved his life. The two concepts seemed too much for him, and he'd barely spoken to anybody for days because of the severe bruising to his pride.

Hermione leaned over and whispered something in Ron's ear. He laughed, threw a quick kiss on her cheek, and squeezed her hand under the table so that the probing eye of Filch wouldn't catch sight of it.

"Could I have your attention, please," announced Professor McGonagall suddenly. She'd stepped onto the platform at the front of the room. Everybody went quiet at her words. She still commanded attention, and particularly since she'd managed to stand up to the Carrows. She'd become one of the most popular teachers at Hogwarts as a result.

"I'd like to have a minutes' silence to remember those who have perished at the hands of Voldemort," she said, as a low murmur rippled through the crowd, "and to celebrate their bravery and loyalty.

"Now, I need to let you all know how severely Hogwarts has suffered these past two years. After Professor Dumbledore's death, and the terrible coup staged by the Carrows, Hogwarts became a shadow of what it used to be.

"Because everything has been in such disarray, Hogwarts, as of next week, will be closed for redevelopment. It will take some time to even magically repair the building, along with time for staff and students to recover from the stresses they have been under, and to redevelop the curriculum and recruit new staff.

"I have arranged for the Hogwarts Express to depart next Friday at 9 o'clock. All students will need to leave and I have sent owls directly to each parent so they know to expect you. We don't know exactly when Hogwarts will reopen; rest assured that you will be the first to know.

"Students who were in either of the two final years over the course of this year are welcome to repeat their studies when Hogwarts re-opens, given the obvious distractions that were faced.

"I would also like to announce that, on your return, I will be taking on the role as Headmistress. I look forward to leading Hogwarts in a new era.

"Thank you once again to everybody who fought during the battle, helped in some way, or simply to those who remained strong and loyal. The future of the wizarding world is now secure, thanks to you and, of course, our very own Harry Potter."

A roaring of applause erupted in the room. Ron slapped Harry on the back, while Hermione gave him a hug.

"No Hogwarts," said Ron, grinning, to Harry, when the applause had died down. "You'll have to come and live with us then, mate."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Some might not see the following as an answer to the 'cliffhanger.' Unfortunately it's not the kind of situation that can be answered in one chapter. To understand the cliffhanger a context needs to be built for it. This means that answers won't come immediately. I'm sorry if you hate me for it, but that's the way it goes! 


	8. Ch 8: The Giving of Advice

**CHAPTER 8:Realisations / Hogwarts Express**

"Ron," said Hermione quietly, as they made their way up to the Gryffindor common room after the feast had ended, "you know that I have nowhere to go either."

Wordlessly, they stepped through the door (the Fat Lady was asleep, several champagne glasses rolling at her feet, and had left the opening ajar) and into a mercifully empty room. The lonely fire was crackling in unison with the wind screaming in the chimneys overhead. Hermione sat on the edge of the couch. Ron sat beside her, but they didn't speak for a few moments.

"Did your mum – did she tell you when Fred's funeral was?" said Hermione, desperate for something to say. Lately there had been more moments like this; where the two sat and didn't quite know what to say to each other. They either ended up kissing, or fighting, or sometimes both. They were crazy about each other, but this relationship thing was unfamiliar territory for both and neither had the instruction manual to cope with it.

"No," said Ron.

"Oh. I thought she would've had one by now."

"Everyone's still whooping about…er…You-Know-Who. I think she wants to wait til everybody's calmed down a bit."

"I see."

Ron stared down at his hands. At that moment, it felt as though the Dementors had closed in on Hogwarts again. Every good feeling he had had, even those about Hermione, were being sucked from him at rapid speed. He felt cold, and shaky, and yet he knew those foul creatures from Azkaban were nowhere close; they had been banished back to the wizard prison.

"I miss him," Ron said suddenly; so suddenly, in fact, he hadn't even expected himself to speak the words aloud. One moment they were inside his head; the next, they had been verbalised.

Hermione patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I know, Ron," she said. "We all miss him."

Ron shook his head. "I _miss _him. He was my brother. He – he –"

Suddenly, Hermione felt his shoulder heave beneath her touch as he began to sob. "He was my brother, Hermione! He was _Fred_! He wasn't supposed to die! Not like that! He wasn't supposed to _die_!"

Hermione held his face in her hands and wiped his few tears with her thumbs. "He didn't die in pain," she said. "He died laughing. He died fighting, which is what he wanted. We all wish he were here, but thank God he was still Fred when he left us."

Ron fell into Hermione's arms. He felt ridiculous for crying, and he didn't know whether his tears were a sole result of his grief or a combination of grief and utter humiliation. After several minutes, he sat up straight and wiped his tears away. "Sorry for that," he mumbled. "You shouldn't've seen me cry like that. Such a baby – so stupid –"

"You're allowed to cry," she said. "You've lost your brother. I don't mind."

"Y'know," he said, looking at her, "I really do love you, Hermione."

Hermione smiled. She didn't say anything.

"So," he said, determined to distract himself of the fact that he'd just poured his heart out to a girl, let alone his own girlfriend, "you have nowhere to go."

"No," she said. "Mum and Dad are in Australia, remember, under the impression they never even had a daughter."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Well, aren't you…I dunno…going over there to undo it?"

She shook her head. "I can't, yet," she said. "Apparating between Hemispheres is too hard for amateur witches like me –" Ron snorted; Hermione chose to ignore him and barrelled on. "There's a whole of training and study to be done. I have to order some special books from the Ministry to study the theory. Professor McGonagall offered to teach me when we come back to Hogwarts next year."

"You're coming back next year?" he said, genuinely stunned.

"Well, of course," she said loftily. "Why wouldn't I? I need to get my N.E.W.Ts. I can't do any other study without them. And in case you hadn't forgotten, we missed this year!"

"But – but – everything's changed!" Ron spluttered. "Dumbledore's gone, Fred's gone, even ruddy Snape's gone! Nothing'll be the same. I don't know if I can be bothered."

"Well, maybe you can't, but I can," she said angrily. "I'm coming back, whether you are or not." She paused. "Remember, if you don't come back, you won't see me for an entire year! Who knows what could happen in that time!"

A feeling of something like panic gripped Ron at her words. She was right, he thought, lots of things could change. She might find somebody else instead. There might be a new student at school who scrapes her off her feet. He couldn't have that. There was no way he could let that happen. He had to go back, just to make they could stay together.

"Well…erm…you don't have anywhere to go, do you? So…erm…you could come and stay with us…if you wanted to, that is. And I s'pose…if it really means that much to you…if I really have to…I'll come back with you next year."

Hermione let out a squeal of delight and threw her arms around Ron, showering him in kisses. Stunned, he responded with fervour and they collapsed on top of each other, kissing madly, oblivious to the giggles from the paintings around the room.

Later that evening, Harry and Ginny walked into the common room, hand in hand. They stared curiously at the sight of Ron resting lazily against the edge of the couch, Hermione asleep, curled up with her head resting in his lap. He had a silly grin on his face as he gazed down at her, occasionally stroking her hair.

"Nice work, Ron," said Harry.

"Yeah, well," said Ron smugly. "Don't be jealous. I just have a way with women."

--------------------------------------------

The morning of departure from Hogwarts came far too quickly for the students' – and professors' – tastes.

Hagrid was busy sobbing into his handkerchief as Ron, Hermione and Harry sat in his kitchen, eating rock cakes.

"I'm going ter miss you three," he bawled, blowing his nose so loudly it made Hermione jump. "And yer only just sorted out Vol-Voldemort an' all."

"We'll be back next year," said Hermione quickly. "You can come and visit us any time you like. We'll all be in the same place, after all."

Hagrid stopped crying long enough to stare at them. "What'd yer mean, all in one place? Aren't yer going back home, Hermione?"

She shook her head. "I don't have a home now," she said.

"Oh well, now, that's a shame," he said. He turned to Ron and said, rather sharply, "You take care o' her, all right, Ron? If yer don't you'll be hearin' from me! Yer know what I did to Harry's cousin an' all!"

Ron nodded obediently. "Yes, Hagrid, sir."

"Jus' between you an' me," said Hagrid, leaning in, "I'll be teachin' again, properly this time, next year."

"Oh, Hagrid, that's wonderful!" cried Hermione, throwing her arms around him. "I'm so pleased!"

"Are yer really? Well that…that really means somethin', yer know," said Hagrid, and with that, he let out another great howl.

------------------------------------------------

Neville trailed behind Ron as he dragged his suitcase toward the Hogwarts Express, trying madly to keep up.

"Ron," he panted, "I need some advice."

"What?" said Ron. He threw his suitcase into the baggage compartment, somewhat irritated that Harry and Hermione had gone on ahead without him.

"Well – I – uh…like this girl," he said. "She's really lovely, and…well…I want to ask her to…um…go out with me, but I dunno how. But you seem to know what you're doing…with Hermione and all that. What do I _do_?"

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Just…be yourself. One day, whoever it is, will wake up and look at you and fall madly in love with you and realise that she wants you."

Neville looked puzzled. "But…that could happen with anyone!" He looked around nervously. "How did you do it with Hermione?"

"It just…sort of…_happened. _One minute we weren't really speaking and the next minute she kissed me. I dunno, it was like an accident. Make an accident happen. Or pretend you're mad with her. Or something like that."

"Oh." Neville sighed. "How do you really feel about Hermione?"

Ron looked sheepish. "I'm crazy about her," he said. "Always have been, really."

"Have you told her you love her?" asked Neville.

"Yeah," said Ron.

"And did she say it back?"

"Yeah."

Neville sighed and deliberately banged his head against the side of the train. "I wish that would happen with me and –"

Suddenly, the train began to move.

"Quick, Neville! Get on the train!" shouted a girl from the next carriage over. Neville flushed a violent shade of scarlet and scrambled on board the train, followed by Ron.

Ron stared down the passageway at the girl standing in the doorway, furiously beckoning for Neville.

"Bloody hell," he said to himself.

------------------------------------------------

Hermione had been busy reading _Hemispherical Apparition and Other Cross-Contintental Wizardry_, a well-thumbed copy she'd managed to borrow from Professor McGonagall, until she excused herself from their compartment to buy some snacks.

"Looks like Neville's got himself a girlfriend," said Ron, grinning, to Harry and Ginny.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, I don't know if I'm going to tell you that…"

"Ronald _Weasley!_" shouted Hermione furiously, from the doorway. She'd just reappeared, an arm full of Chocolate Frogs. Her face resembled thunder. She threw herself into the seat opposite Ron, fuming.

Ron rolled his eyes in Harry's direction. "Girls. Why do we bother?"

"Don't you be like that. I'm not speaking to you now!"

"What'd I do?"

"You _know. _You told Neville about – about-" Her voice trailed off as she realised that Harry's interest in their conversation had been raised.

"About what?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Hermione, her cheeks flushing. "And no," she added, glaring at the amused expression on Harry's face, "it's not _that_!"

The next minute, Ron had launched himself onto the seat next to Hermione, wrapped his arm around her neck, dipped her and kissed her hard. He surfaced a few minutes later, now just as red-cheeked as Hermione, with a silly grin on his face.

"There," he said to Harry, settling back into the seat opposite his girlfriend, "that'll shut her up for awhile."

Hermione stood and whacked Ron across the head with her book.


	9. Ch 9: A New Fred?

**CHAPTER 9:Screaming Pile of P-P and W-W**

When Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny arrived back at The Burrow after their train ride, they were greeted by a round-table conference.

Bill, Charlie, Percy, Arthur and Molly were gathered around the table. Baby Teddy Lupin was asleep on a blanket on the floor.

"Ah, glad to see you back here," said Arthur. His voice sounded cheery enough, but it was clearly forced; there seemed to be lines there that hadn't been there two weeks earlier. "Come and sit down, Harry and Hermione. We're just discussing the funeral, and the baby." He gestured toward the baby on the floor, who Ron had only just noticed.

"Awww," cooed Ginny, scrambling for the carpet. She sat and gazed down at the baby. Hermione stayed and sat beside Ron at the table.

"We've decided," said Arthur, "to have the funeral next Friday. It's to be a private funeral. We don't want a circus act."

Ron nodded, glancing at his mother. She seemed completely hollow, like a light had switched off inside her. He felt sure he could guess what she was thinking, too. How guilty she felt for always criticising the twins, for always giving them a hard time about their studies and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Now he was gone, and there was no way she could possibly make amends.

"As for this wee one over here," said Arthur, "we came up with an idea. Seeing as you're Teddy's godfather, Harry, and you'll be staying with us indefinitely – how would you feel – what I mean to say is – what do you think of us Weasleys adopting him?"

Hermione's mouth fell open as she stared at Harry.

"I – um – I mean…of course. Sounds like a good idea to me," said Harry. He felt somewhat relieved. The idea of being solely responsible for an orphaned infant was too much for him to bear right now.

"Right, then," said Arthur. "You lot go on upstairs to unpack, and the rest of us here will finish sorting out business."

"I hope Mum's not trying to get a replacement Fred," said Ron upstairs, watching his pyjamas and toothbrush fly back into their places. "That's not a good idea."

"Oh, let her be," said Hermione. "She's just lost her _son_. If she thinks Teddy will replace him somehow, and it makes her feel better – then why should it matter?"

"It's going to be a lot of fun, having a screaming, crying pile of poo-poos and wee-wees running round the house," said Ron bitterly. He threw the last of his clothes into his cupboard and pushed the door closed harder than he had intended.

"Nice to see your maturity shining through today, Ron," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

"Well, don't get me wrong," said Ron. "It's a cute baby – as far as babies go. And – well – the fact that he's related to Lupin gives him double points. But me and babies? Putting up with Ginny when she was a baby was hard enough, blimey!"

A pillow flew from the corner of the room and hit Ron squarely in the nose.

"I think you deserved that," said Hermione. She, Harry and Ginny dissolved into peals of laughter and, after a few minutes, Ron joined in too.


	10. Ch 10: A Weekend in Paris

**CHAPTER 10: A Weekend in Paris**

Nobody could quite believe that it had been exactly two years since Ron and Hermione officially decided that they were crazy about each other. Some couldn't believe they had made it this far without killing each other; others were so in love with the idea of Ron and Hermione being in love that they were determined to see them grandparents before they'd turned 21.

"'Mione," said Ron, one lazy Sunday afternoon, "I have a surprise for you."

Hermione sat bolt upright, in shock. Ron was _not _one for surprises; he lacked the creative ability, for a start; along with intuition, tact and general common sense. To have him proclaim a surprise was, well, a complete _surprise._

He rustled around in his bag and pulled out an envelope.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Well, it's an envelope," he said, almost seriously.

"Oh, shut up, I know that!" she said. She took the envelope and ripped it open. "Oh, wow!"

Two crisp new plane tickets fell into her hands. Not only was the surprise wonderful, but it was an enormous gesture; it meant that Ron had actually gone to the rather colossal effort of working out how to buy Muggle plane tickets, and actually doing it. She'd been telling him for months how much she wanted to go to Paris again; that she wanted to do it the way she'd done it with her parents.

"How did you –" she asked.

"Been saving up for months," he said, rather proudly. "I knew you wanted to go on a holiday on one of those flying Muggle things, so…well…I asked Dad to help me, and we did it."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the forehead. "You are _wonderful_!" she cried.

"I do my best," he said.

She looked at the tickets again. "Fourteenth of September. That's…three weeks from now."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I figured, sooner the better, hey? I booked us a nice little hotel room overlooking the Trifle Tower."

Hermione burst out laughing. "The _Trifle Tower_? Are you sure?"

"Yeah," said Ron, a little hurt. "The big metal thing those crazy Muggles built. You know."

"Ron, _darling_," she said, a little condescendingly, patting him on the shoulder. "I feel I must correct you. It's actually the _Eiffel _Tower. Not the _Trifle _Tower."

Ron looked shocked for a split second, then shrugged. "Oh, well. Same ruddy difference, anyway."

* * *

Later that night, while everybody was finishing their dinner and little Teddy was trying to create a symphony orchestra with his fork and bowl, Pigwidgeon flapped madly toward the window, but didn't quite make it; he slammed headfirst into the glass and vanished from sight.

"Oh, that poor bird," said Hermione, scraping her chair backward and dashing out the door. She scooped the owl into her arms and carried him inside. He let out a feeble hoot before, rather unsteadily, flapping toward his cage.

"Who's that from?" asked Ron, through a mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie.

Hermione tore open the envelope Pigwidgeon had been clutching in his talons. She scanned the letter and let out a gasp.

"Quick, Hermione, read it to us," said Mrs Weasley.

"_Dear Weasley family, Mr Harry Potter and Miss Hermione Granger:_ _The Longbottom and Lovegood families request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their son and daughter, Neville and Luna, on Sunday 16 September. The ceremony will begin at 3:30pm at Southshire Cathedral, followed by a celebratory feast in the Great Hall at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."_

Ron's fork dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, and Ginny began coughing so hard that Harry had to give her a few good thumps to the back.

"Gee, he's full of secrets," said Ron, finally. "I mean, the guy's engaged to Looney Lovegood and he doesn't even _tell _us 'til three weeks before the wedding? That's –" He stopped short, sudden realisation hitting him. "Oh, no. That's – that's –" He looked in Hermione's direction and mouthed, "Paris."

Hermione's face fell.

* * *

"We have to go," said Hermione later. Dinner had been long forgotten, and everybody had parted ways to go to bed. "Ron, we can't miss Neville's _wedding_. He'd be so hurt. We can change Paris, can't we?"

"I dunno," said Ron, glumly. He was lying in the middle of his bedroom floor, staring gloomily up at the ceiling. "Don't care, really. All my plans get messed up."

"That's not true," said Hermione. "We can change the trip. We could even Apparate there the day after!"

"No!" said Ron. "We were going to _fly _there. We were going to do it the Muggle way. Just so I could prove to you I could. If we can't do it the Muggle way, we won't do it at all!"

"Ron, you're being unreasonable," said Hermione. She tried to lie down next to him, but he stiffened and looked away. "Don't be angry with me, Ronald! It's not _my _fault Neville's getting married then! How could anything _I _do change that?"

"Well, I don't know! Maybe if you could see me as being important, for a change?" Ron knew he was being ridiculous, he knew he was being irrational; but he was riled now, he was _furious _with Neville, with the world, for ruining his great plan to make Hermione happy; and now his anger, his adrenaline had picked up momentum, like he was on a bullet train that wouldn't stop.

Hermione's mouth fell open. She felt as though she had been kicked, hard, in the stomach. "I have never seen you as unimportant. _Never_." She stood. "If you're going to be like this, Ron, then I'm leaving."

"Fine," said Ron, sulkily. When the door slammed hard behind her, a wave of panic washed over him. He hadn't actually expected her to go. What if she didn't come back? He loved her too much for that. He sprang up, tearing downstairs after her, but she'd already jumped into the little Muggle car she'd bought and driven off down the road, the illumination from her headlights swinging wildly through the trees.

He threw himself onto their bed. His body felt like glue. He could barely process thought or feeling. He rolled over and caught a whiff of Hermione's wonderful soapy scent in the pillow. An unwilling tear rolled down his cheek, which he soon wiped away furiously. He couldn't cry – he had to be strong. He had to be a man. He had to be Ron.


	11. Ch 11: Rain and a Rosebush

**CHAPTER 11 :****Rain and a Rosebush**

Ron woke at three o'clock in the morning, to the steady rhythm of rain drumming against the roof. He had barely slept; he'd tossed and turned constantly all night, nightmarish images and thoughts drifting in and out of the crevices of his mind, until he could bear it no longer. He'd gotten out of bed, switched on the light, paced the room until his legs were weak with tiredness, but still he could not exhaust himself to the point where he could sleep. He was so churned up, in fact, that it didn't even occur to him to cast a sleeping charm.

He sat up in bed and rested his forehead against the window pane. He recoiled slightly from the freezing touch, but didn't move. There was something oddly comforting about having one's head resting against a rain-splattered window, he decided.

Had he really killed it with Hermione? Had he pushed her one step too far? They'd had their rows – far too many to count, in fact – but none that had ended quite like this. And though he didn't know if he could bring himself to admit it out loud to anybody else, he knew it had been his fault. His stupid, stupid pride had once again managed to creep in between himself and his lovely Hermione. Now she had disappeared – and he had no idea when and if she would return.

His thoughts began to divert to terrible _what-ifs _and nasty _possiblys_, when he noticed movement in the garden. Startled, he squinted, trying to see what it was. Perhaps Crookshanks had escaped. Typical, he thought. Even Hermione's stupid cat had stormed out in protest.

But it didn't take him long to realise that it _wasn't _Crookshanks. It was a figure, he realised, and a human figure at that, huddled in a lonely corner of the garden.

Without thinking, he tore downstairs and into the backyard, forgetting until it was too late that it was raining; cursing silently to himself, he contemplated whether to run back upstairs to get his wand and fix it magically, but he decided he didn't care enough to be bothered.

It _was _Hermione, he realised as he made it closer to the figure, and his heart ached more than it ever had before when he saw her shoulders shuddering and tears running down her face. For all his selfish ponderings during his sleepless nights, he hadn't stopped to realise that _he _had done this to her, that _he _had hurt her enough to make her cry amongst the rosebushes.

"'Mione," he whispered hoarsely, not knowing what to say beyond the obvious. "I…um…er…"

She didn't say anything. It was almost as though she hadn't noticed he was there, although he also sensed that she wasn't purposefully ignoring him. It seemed as though, just like him, she _couldn't_ speak, couldn't respond. It was almost worse, he decided, than the shouting he'd expected on her return.

But then she spoke. Her words were slow and quiet, almost as though she were trying to translate her thoughts and feelings into a dozen languages at once. "Why?" she whispered. "Why, Ron?"

He sat down wordlessly beside her, and yanked a leaf from the bush and twirled it between his fingers. Before he could answer, she pulled her wand from her pocket, pointed it at Ron and whispered, "_Impervious!" _Suddenly, he was dry again; and it was only then that he noticed she wasn't wet at all, aside from her tears.

"I was a prat," he said finally, not looking at her.

"I know." She sniffled. "You hurt me."

He took a deep breath and continued on, hardly believing that he was speaking so coherently and so maturely. "I thought that if we couldn't fly to Paris, then you'd think less of me. Like…I dunno…I was useless or something."

"Why would I think that, Ron?" she said, turning to face him. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his heart throbbed all over again. "I love you. I don't care where in the world we are or how we get there – just as long as I'm with you."

It was that moment that he knew. Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he couldn't ever live without this girl. That despite everything they'd been through together, he wouldn't be able to tolerate a moment where she wasn't in his life.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," he said, pulling her against his body tightly. She let out another howling sob and buried her face against his shoulder. "I won't hurt you again. I promise."


	12. Ch 12: Come Away With Me

**CHAPTER 12 : Come Away With Me**

"It's time," said Hermione to Ron, one morning the following week.

They were sitting at the breakfast table. Everybody else had disappeared; Harry and Ginny had taken Teddy and one-year-old Victoire to the zoo; Mr and Mrs Weasley were out shopping in Diagon Alley; and George was once again visiting his girlfriend, Katie Bell.

"Time for what?" said Ron, through a mouthful of bacon. "I didn't think you were going anywhere today."

"Time to go back to Australia, I mean," she said, matter-of-factly.

Ron nearly choked on his bacon. "_Today_?" he cried.

"As good a day as any," she said.

"Oh, well," he said sarcastically. "Thanks for the warning. I'll just run upstairs and fetch my suitcase!"

Hermione sniffed with disapproval. "Don't be like that. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Ron sighed. He couldn't see the sense in pursuing a fantasy; but he also knew that Hermione, being the stubborn and infuriating creature that she was, wouldn't rest until she'd exhausted every magical possibility. "Of course I'm coming. I just…think you could be wasting your time. It's not going to work any more this time than it did last time."

Hermione bristled. "Don't say that. Every time I go it gets more and more likely that it _will _work. I just have to keep trying."

"No, every time you go it means one more chance that you've possibly made it worse."

"Ron, are you coming, or not? If you are, then I'm leaving in half an hour. If not, then have a lovely breakfast, and I'll see you soon."

"When'll we be coming back?" he asked. "In time for tea?"

"Ready?" she asked nervously, clutching his hand. "I hate this Side-Along Apparition. Especially between continents. I was never any good at it." She checked her watch. "It should, theoretically, be 5:37pm, Adelaide time."

"Right," said Ron. "Let's get this over and done with, then."

* * *

They landed, face-down, with a rather nasty _thump_, in the middle of a stunning white beach that curved farther than their eyes could contemplate. The beach was all but empty; the wind whistled along the shore and whipped clouds of sand against their bare ankles. They pulled themselves upward, spitting sand as they went.

"Fancy a dip?" asked Ron, grinning. For a brief moment, the idea of parading in the water at an Australian beach, with Hermione and in their bathers, made his skin tingle. But the look on Hermione's face brought him back down to earth.

"I think the bus leaves from across the road in a few minutes," she said. "We should get there in time."

"Why don't we ask your parents if they could –" Ron began, but he cut himself short when he realised. "Oh. Right. Let's go to the bus, then."

They were waiting by the kerb for the bus when Ron spoke. "Did you bring the Australian money?" he asked.

Hermione went pale.

"I thought you were supposed to be the organised one!"

At that moment, the bus pulled to the kerb and hissed to a stop. The doors swung open and Hermione nervously stepped inside.

"Student or regular, love?" asked the middle-aged bus driver.

"Erm, regular, thank you," squeaked Hermione.

"That'll be three dollars twenty, thanks, love."

Hermione pretended to rummage through her pockets, and feigned surprise when she couldn't find any money. "Oh, Ron?" she asked loudly. "Did I give that change to you?"

Ron shook his head and pulled together his sweetest couple voice. "No, darling. You had it in your pocket all morning."

"Well, it's not there anymore!"

"Just hop on, you two, and you can sort it out later. I'll let you through this time, but make sure you get yourselves sorted for your next bus ride. You on holiday from the UK?"

"Yes," they both said, at the same time.

"Which part? I was born in Dorset."

"London," they said again, together.

"Well, you two have a good holiday. And get yourselves some money. Not all the bus drivers are so forgiving!"

"I can't believe I just did that, I can't believe I just did that," Hermione muttered to Ron after they'd clambered into the back seat of the bus. "I couldn't even Confund him, with all these Muggles watching us."

Ron shrugged. "Hey, you're doing this for the greater good. Deal with it."

"I'm doing this for _my _greater good. On a technicality, I wasn't justified to steal a bus fare from a nice man."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're such a goody-two-shoes."

"You expected anything different? You've had nine years to get used to the idea!"

"Nah," said Ron. "That's why I love you."

* * *

Fortunately, Hermione's parents lived within a five minute walking distance of one of the bus' stops.

"Which street was it again?" asked Ron. "I'm tired, by the way. This Apparating thing is really starting to exhaust me. Hey –" He stopped. "Hermione, we could've just _Apparated _to your parents' house from the ruddy beach."

"No, we couldn't," said Hermione. "I forgot the name of the street but I knew I'd recognise it once we got on the bus and saw the signs."

"Oh. Right."

They walked silently the few hundred metres toward Francis Avenue, Hallett Cove. It was a nippy winter's day, but not nearly as cold as those to which Hermione and Ron were accustomed back home in London.

"Forgot to bring my jacket," Ron mumbled.

They stood before the Grangers' new home. Hermione took a deep breath, and knocked.

After a few moments, the door swung open. "Hello?" asked Mr Granger politely.

"Hi," said Hermione. "I'm Hermione. Hermione…Weasley. The girl who came to visit you about a month ago."

"Oh, hello, love! Come in, come in." Her father held the front door open for her, and they both stepped inside. Ron took Hermione's hand in his own and gave it a squeeze.

"Hermione _Weasley?" _he muttered as Mr Granger went ahead into the living room.

"I might scare them off if I say Granger," she muttered back. "This is safer. For now." She stopped and turned to Ron. "When I excuse myself, I need you to keep them talking for as long as I'm gone. I need time to work on the spell. If I take awhile, you need to make up some kind of excuse. That I'm getting over a cold, or that I had a rough plane trip, or something." She gave him a quick kiss. "Thanks for coming with me."

No sooner had they sat down that Hermione stood. "Excuse me, Mrs Granger," she asked, "but I could I please use your bathroom?"

"Of course you can," said her mother. "You remember where it is?"

* * *

They were arrived back at The Burrow the following evening. Ron and Hermione Apparated, with a loud clatter, beside the dinner table.

"Hermione! Ron!" said Mr Weasley brightly. "How did it go? Fancy a potato?"

Hermione shook her head. "Thanks, Arthur," she said, "but I'm not very hungry. And I'm tired." She gave Mr and Mrs Weasley a quick hug. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"It didn't work, did it?" said Mr Weasley to Ron, after Hermione had disappeared from view.

Ron shook his head.

Mr Weasley sighed. "I've asked everybody at the Ministry. Everybody. Nobody can understand why. It's times like this when we need Dumbledore!"

"Yeah," said Ron glumly, stabbing a small potato violently with his fork. "You're not wrong."


End file.
